Realistic or Modern &nbsp; [SYN] Act I (1856-1867)

Sicarius

Ms. Persley
Somesby Hall, South England

dragonsfire

The fair summer breeze caressed the lush meadows of the Great Isles, signaling the beginning of April. Where kings and lords once fell, others would come to take their place. For as long as the greed of man still resides within the hearts of many, for there will always be those ambitious enough to extend their predecessor's glory. Wickedness and righteousness, the constantly opposing natures that ruin and strengthen mankind, would become the very tool that tests one's heart. While many celebrate the end of a costly war across the sea, others took this time to reflect and act upon the unsettling repercussions that culminated in the gradual rise of hatred and damnity. The vast mansion, rarely covered in green tendrils, saw bustling activities in reticent. Schools of housemaids and butlers, poised in their immaculate attires and elegant in their movements, continuously paced themselves towards their tasks most diligently. As they gave life to the already-blossoming estate, their busy hands and feet would honor their mistress, whose gentle smile emerged from the translucent veils of curtains that swayed lightly beneath the zephyr's reproach.

The year is 1856, and the world is about to be plunged into an age of strife and chaos. Heinous crimes and atrocities materialized in abundance in response to the decadence that plagued mankind since the beginning of time. The disparity between the nobility and commoner, already torn by their contrasting nature, paved the way for several dormant revolutions to be unearthed.

Fine aroma of black tea perforated the grim study, carrying the solitary occupant's mind towards the misty mountains of Ceylon, where the vivid texture of fresh bergamot extract liberated their senses profoundly. As they bask in the splendor of their privileged pleasure, their radiant blue optics remain fixed upon the distant horizon beyond the balcony. The absent sun, unhindered by the curse of the isle, would cast its rays across the untouched sea of grass. The delicate blond creature remained patient, pleasing not her brilliant eyes of the ancient scenery, but biding her time in anticipation of certain visitors. Upon her desk resided an unsealed letter with its contents already consumed by the fireplace's infernal form the night before. The only trace of its content now resided within the memories of the self-possessed woman, while the red wax has yet to dry from her swift attempt to summon the necessary personnel to answer the letter's contents. While the boarding house in London was often preferred for her schemes, the sudden deviation from the routine marked the urgency of the matter. Two days prior, communiques were sent out with discretion, requesting the attendance of various personnel that she deemed fit to aid her endeavors. To many that were accustomed to the routine, this sudden gathering seemed greater in magnitude in contrast to their previous operations in Crimea.

Before long, a convoy of horse-drawn carriages began to pull up to the courtyard, as various personnel began to dismount, each donning varying attires that bespoke of their origins and professions. They were promptly greeted by the head maid, whose long cedar hair alludes a certain firmness in their graceful stride, while their amber eyes scanned the anticipated personnel with precision. She was no stranger to those that served Grimaldi, having accompanied her mistress in countless business trips overseas. The intemperate head maid was known among them by the name of Barbara Persley. Though many insisted on the formality of addressing her as 'Miss Persley' lest they stumble upon a nerve of hers.

"Welcome back, gentlemen. Lady Grimaldi is expecting ye in her study. Your belongings will be seen to your rooms accordingly." The Scot greeted the group of men, cueing the school of butlers and maids to sashay towards the carriages, as they retrieved any baggages that accompanied the multitude.

"Right this way, please." Persley invited them in, guiding the detachment of specialists within the recently-renovated corridor of Somesby Hall, and ascended the stairs. Along the way, Persley caught wind of a certain young soul, whose fixed contract with their mistress was as perpetual as their obvious attire.

"There ye are, lad. Dunnae hang about, our Mistress is waiting!" She called Xaver over.

A wicked grin carved across the estate owner's visage, as she calmly takes another sip out of her cup of tea. Despite her reluctant decision, the organizer was bound by her honor. A predicament that she fully comprehended, but could not feel until the weight of the inevitable repercussions finally robbed her of her liberty. But she was not the only one to suffer the blow. The very contingent that presented themselves here owed Grimaldi their share of toil and blood. It was time to put them to good use, contemplated the woman. As the wooden door swung wide, the diverse detachment of gentlemen flooded the room, at the behest of the maid's attentive guide.

Rising from her chair, the blonde woman turned away from the open balcony to greet them. "My band of handsome mischief. I hope your furloughs have been... tranquil and mundane?" She raised her voice, sporting a heavy Yorkshire dialect, despite her Italian origins. Though those present within the room have already grown accustomed to her accent, whether they like to accept the discrepancy or not.

"Tea?'" Grimaldi invited, as her rosy lips curled up into a perfect smile of grace and fondness.

Closing the door behind her, Persley fixed herself to the routine etiquette of serving the group with some fresh tea and pastries.

"The finest black batch from Ceylon, with just a hint of bergamot orange. Rejuvenating, this." The blonde woman noted, as she took in its permeating scent.

"Now. Regarding the urgency of your attendance. Our opulent benefactors have taken an interest in the Grand Jeu, as the blemish that we sanitized in Crimea appears to have conceived a few unintended complications. Anything beyond this will, no doubt, put us between the might of the authorities and our lesser counterparts. Thus a business proposition to you, my dear vindicators, should you choose to accept this task." Grimaldi said, as if she was giving them a choice, knowing full well of the established reality that they would not show if they were not interested in returning to the fold. "Of course, under my employment, your contracts with me are henceforth renewed and your services will be indemned upon the completion of our tour. Previous agreements may be amended at a later time. Though I do implore you to at least stay for dinner, even if you decline the job. I do miss our idle banters." Grimaldi giggled lightly to herself, as she examined the men before her, of whom have seen much obligated violence and controlled mischief while under her employment. Many of which have seen at least a decade's worth of action and deliberation.

Having distributed the refreshments, Persley would circle back around her mistress's silhouette, posting herself firmly just a few paces within Grimaldi's shadows.

Huntertabbysandshark3 · Sep 22, 2022

Conor Macgregor
interaction:

Stepping out of one if the many carriages in the convoy of associates was a ginger-haired man his attire being that of somewhat expensive-looking shoes, pair of slacks, and a longboat that could very well conceal all manner of things. The look finished off with a beret hat, making them look rather shady individually or perhaps just relatively obscure in a crowded street but here amongst the prestigiousness of maids butlers and guests, he looked rather out of place. But it didn't matter much to the man tipping his hat in greeting towards Miss Presley. "Pleasure as always miss Presley, do be careful with me suitcases some of the things are a wee bit fragile" the man commented accent distinctly Irish and rather heavy too, with a small smile on his face. Mostly Because he'd rather not have the few vials of poison he’d brought with him, to be damaged, one might call it a woman weapon but he didn’t care for such rubbish of an idea.

of course with the greeting and warning issued, his hand retreated back into the pockets of his coat they’d soon be meeting there.. employer miss Grimaldi. “ eh been fairly quiet side form them rats, but a cup o tea seems good righta bout now,” Conor said with a grin his hat no longer in his head now that they were indoors, hed then promptly take a seat and leaning back in his chair a bit listening to the offer, though frankly, he'd not have come if he wasn't gonna agree to it to begin with so what miss Grimaldi and to say was just information on the job to him and less of an offer. "sounds right up my alley miss Grimaldi, should be.. interesting hey"

Sicarius · Sep 22, 2022

Ars%C3%A8ne.Lupin.%28Code%3A.Realize%29.full.3531125.png

Lorenzo de Auditore
Somesby Hall, South England

dragonsfire

Lorenzo peered outside of the carriage's window as he sat idly by, lost in his thoughts while journeying towards the Grimaldi Estate. His chin rested softly in the palm of his hand as his elbow laid upon his knee, exhibiting a meditative posture. His warm hazel eyes traced each tree that passed by, following intently before fixating on the next that entered his vision. Normally, he would be enamored by the landscape and the wonderful scent of wildflowers that carried across the meadows by a light breeze. Instead, his mind was focused on the occasion to which he was called to the Great Isles.

What a peculiar turn of events, this is. It is not typical of Lady Grimaldi to invoke a summons in such haste. And the location... curious.

Lorenzo let out a defeated sigh. This was clearly not a simple request, nor was it a friendly invitation for needlessly trivial small talk. Whatever the context for the meeting might be, it conveyed a serious tone. His services would undoubtedly be both expected and required... though to what scale, Lorenzo was unsure. The timing of everything was indeed suspect.

It was not as if there was any true alternative, however. They were all intertwined by the careful and methodical knitting of the Institution's scheming hands. Refusal of service to Lady Grimaldi was likened to rejecting the Institution itself. Either way... Institution or not, Lady Grimaldi was a powerful ally to have and thus it would be unwise to do anything that could potentially sever their relationship.

The carriage began to slow down, eventually reaching a complete stop as the convoy reached its destination. The side door was opened, and on cue the dark-haired Italian rose to his feet and stepped out of the transport; briefly adjusting his jacket before brushing off the dust that had accumulated on his shoulder during travel.

"Welcome back, gentlemen. Lady Grimaldi is expecting ye in her study. Your belongings will be seen to your rooms accordingly." Greeted Barbara Persley, Lady Grimaldi's head maid. Lorenzo remembered her well, as her fervent and vigilant service gave a striking impression to the ambassador. Despite being in a position of servitude, she held a presence that commanded respect and channeled her master's authority. She was certainly capable, and Lorenzo made note to always be wary of himself when around her.

Lorenzo tilted his head towards Persley slightly while gently grasping the brim of his hat. "Miss Persley, always a delight to see you."

In mere seconds, a handful of maids and butlers had appeared and made their way towards the carriages, grabbing the impressive amount of luggage before carrying it into the mansion. Persley motioned towards the entrance, inviting the newly arrived guests inside. All of the early arrivals made their way forward, with Lorenzo following suit. The ambassador took in his surroundings as he examined the unique architecture of the British. As they began ascending the stairs, the Italian ran his hand along the top of the railing's smooth surface.

Their craftsmanship is to be commended.

Soon the sound of a large wooden door being opened abruptly shook Lorenzo from his trailing thoughts and his eyes fell upon the prim blonde woman of the hour, sitting elegantly in a chair facing the balcony. She turned around to acknowledge the entourage of associates and gave them a pleasing smile.

"My band of handsome mischief. I hope your furloughs have been... tranquil and mundane?" Grimaldi asked rhetorically as she motioned towards Persley.

"Tea?" The lady of the house asked.

Before anyone could give an answer, Persley had already made her way to them with refreshments consisting of a freshly brewed black tea and pastries. The group of men all collectively gave thanks and accepted the gesture, each taking a modest taste of the food in satisfaction. The Grimaldis spared no expense when it came to their provisions, especially their teas.

"The finest black batch from Ceylon, with just a hint of bergamot orange. Rejuvenating, this." Lady Grimaldi informed. Lorenzo was appreciative of her selection, as it was indicative of a more refined taste and consideration for the intricacies that could be found even among something as simple as tea leaves. While he was not as invested in tea as the common man in London, Lorenzo understood that there was a major distinction between a peasant's tea and one that was delicately sourced and developed for a particular taste. It was an art, and the Italian always appreciated art in all its forms.

"Now. Regarding the urgency of your attendance. Our opulent benefactors have taken an interest in the Grand Jeu, as the blemish that we sanitized in Crimea appears to have conceived a few unintended complications. Anything beyond this will, no doubt, put us between the might of the authorities and our lesser counterparts. Thus a business proposition to you, my dear vindicators, should you choose to accept this task." Grimaldi stated, giving a short pause before continuing.

"Of course, under my employment, your contracts with me are henceforth renewed and your services will be indemned upon the completion of our tour. Previous agreements may be amended at a later time. Though I do implore you to at least stay for dinner, even if you decline the job. I do miss our idle banters."

"Grazie mille, Lady Grimaldi! You are looking as lovely as ever. As you know, my services are always available to you la signora. If you are so kind as to offer a meal, who am I to turn down such a gracious offer." Lorenzo answered, removing his hat and giving a courteous bow.

"The sound of such an undertaking has piqued my curiosity, and I would remiss if I did not hear it in its entirety." Lorenzo stated sincerely.

"Sounds right up my alley Miss Grimaldi, should be.. interesting hey." A man of Irish descent stated, following Lorenzo's response.

Lorenzo briefly studied the young Irishman. He did not recall ever have meeting him and speculated what his role could be within the Grimaldi network. The Italian was a bit miffed by his lack of formality, but quickly brushed it off. First impressions were not always the best representation of an individual's true value, and the fact that he not only knew Lady Grimaldi but was summoned alongside him meant that he certainly possessed the skills necessary for the upcoming task; and Lorenzo did not question the fair lady's judgement.

He turned and looked at the remaining associates, awaiting their response.

Worthlessplebian · Sep 22, 2022

Mr. Fairhurst
Somesby Hall, South England

Midrick

The trot of the horses hooves drowned out the rolling wheels, the lone occupant of the carriage stared blithely. The purlin sunlight disseminates through quarter lights imparting the Summer's warmth evoking nostalgia of times passed. The sharply-dressed banker flashed the blinders of his teeth in a soft, appreciative smile. A smile that possesses a labourer upon the completion of an exceptionally long, physical draining, mentally taxing affair however bringing gratification in the mastery of the craft and remunerated with a wager that is worthy of audible gasps at the tellers. The golden ring with the silver band is kneaded by the banker's fingers idly. Eyes prowling the meadow for signs of dainty forest critters or larger... predators. He knows not the purpose for the precipitous invitation to Lady Grimaldi's vast mansion. All that he is knows is... Someone will experience a fate so pernicious that words would abase its' majesty, an artform inimitable by peers.

The coachmen tightens the reins of his horses, commanding them to stop. Reminiscence ceases as facial contorts return to neutrality, Fairhurst claps with pale force. A tick picked up from his profession, shown during fortuitous transactions or the joy of modest clients earning an acceptable amount of coin. His hand wraps around the handles of his carpet bag, constructed to the highest standards, a gentleman of his station could afford. A lock of brass shuts the bag at the mouth while initials of P.F is fastened to the side with a plate.

A servant opens the door for Fairhurst, dark auburn eyes glare unseemly. He is not one of Grimaldi's pompous, conceited suitors of azure pedigree. He adjusted the black, satin-lined teak scarf to be tauter as he stepped outside the carriage. His throat quaffed at the sight of the Lady's mansion, Philip is not one to deny that there is beauty in different forms. Although admitting likewise that there are no contenders to his métier.

Philip made arrangements with the head butler, not requiring of them to perform menial duties for him. Contradictory to ask that of house servants, Philip finds it repugnant as is; the good Lord knows that there is nothing that he detests more than servitude for housework.

The intermingling of persons of interest did not surprise Philip in the slightest. The message attached to the invitation informed him as such. This prepossession further intrigued Philip, the institution works through Grimaldi as this puppeteer of pawns; an arduous game of Chess where the player is just as strung in marionette strings as the pieces; finding no sympathy for either side is the Englishman's answer to this delirium-inducing reality.

"Welcome back, gentlemen. Lady Grimaldi is expecting ye in her study. Your belongings will be seen to your rooms accordingly."

A greeting issued by the inordinate headmaid, one known to Fairhurst as Miss Barbara Persley. The recluse man declined his head in return to Miss Persley. "As always, dear, a pleasure of your presence." Ordinarily, Fairhurst would refuse the aid of the maids or butlers, but brevity expunges that belief entirely. He allowed them to take the luggage save for the carpet bag on his person. The British architecture in Grimaldi's estate is well-acquainted to Philip's perception, instead he turns to the associates, analysing them with presumptuously ill-intent. From the vermeil, Rhadamanthine man to the astonished, commercial leader. From which corner of the world has the vulpine woman gathered them? All of them, he assumes. Miss Persley led them to a pair of wooden doors that swiftly opened, yawning in magnificence. Almost dazzling, they were led to the lady of high import. The prim blonde had cajoled them inside while her back was turned. Clipped nails pressure the pink skin of his palm, he bit the inside of his mouth. If she had not been their attache to their mutual benefactors, Maria figlia di Luca di Grimaldi might not have lived to see this day.

An offer of tea, commonplace for social gatherings such as this. Fairhurst compelled to accept. "Indeed." The fresh brew breathed ardor on Philip. He gestured with the cup to long life, fortunes, and macabre ending.

"Now. Regarding the urgency of your attendance. Our opulent benefactors have taken an interest in the Grand Jeu, as the blemish that we sanitized in Crimea appears to have conceived a few unintended complications. Anything beyond this will, no doubt, put us between the might of the authorities and our lesser counterparts. Thus a business proposition to you, my dear vindicators, should you choose to accept this task." — "Of course, under my employment, your contracts with me are henceforth renewed and your services will be indemned upon the completion of our tour. Previous agreements may be amended at a later time. Though I do implore you to at least stay for dinner, even if you decline the job. I do miss our idle banters."

This axiom before him soured the hospitality. Not wishing to be an exception, not this early in the game, Philip will gladly accept the renewal. As if he had a choice in the matter. Before he assumes a seat, Fairhurst steps forward with cup in hand protracting a malefic shadow, heralding transgressions and oblivion. The form of a knife.

"Lady Grimaldi," Philip called with a quaint, stringent tones. "my services have been at your disposal since my induction by our mutual benefactors, I would never loath to answer your summons." A subtle display of Brummie accent is then subdued by conscious thought. His answer is crystalised for all occupants, there could be no mistaking his intention for anything else. That ambassador, of which Philip took notice moments ago, appeared miffed by the informality of the peasant rat trapper. Philip is inundated with their kind, constantly snooping in the alleys of London and elsewhere. They're as vermin as their catch.

Soviet Panda · Sep 25, 2022

Connor McKinley

Connor awoke with a start as someone banged on the carriage door. "We're here, Boss." Ah, it was just McLeroy, a good man. One of the first one he's served with, as a matter of fact, and has seen almost as many conflicts as Connor. A good solid fellow that he trusted could get things done by himself. But it wasn't just McLeroy, because he had instructed McLeroy to choose a few other lads to bring along. And of those men, Connor didn't know a one. If he didn't know any better, he'd say McLeroy had chosen some young bucks for this escort duty. But McLeroy knew his business and knew his men, so they were most assuredly hardened fighters. Not that there were many, just enough to be polite.

"Thank you, Edward. I was just resting my eyes."

"Of course, Boss."

"Quite right." Moving to exit the carriage, he could feel his right knee beginning to lock up. An old wound he earned near the end of his serviceman career. One that refused to heal. It was manageable most of the time, and only really acted up when there was rain coming. "Get you and your boys somewhere dry, Eddie. And do as Miss Persley asks. Oh, and don't go touching anything. I stood in Barbara's way once, and that was enough for me." Giving his old friend a smile and a pat on the shoulder to mask how he had just used him as a support to get down from the carriage, Connor heads into the awaiting mansion, and Grimaldi.

Connor politely took the cup and saucer that was offered to him, but did not drink. He was not much of a fan of tea, nor coffee. Leaf and bean water respectively. But he knew better than to simply say not to such a display of hospitality. "Lady Grimaldi, you should know that me and the boys are ready whenever you need us." Connor answered with a jovial smile. "And that I never turn down the chance to sample the cooking of your chefs. Is... Oh what was his name? Lennard? Leonardo? Leonard! Is Leonard still under your employ? That man certainly knew how to prepare a stake."

As he spoke, he didn't miss his opportunity to observe the others that were a part of this company. No one he knew, not personally. He knew of Lorenzo, and that Irishman that spoke looked familiar. The other one present he didn't recognize one bit, however. But if he was under the employ of Lady Grimaldi, that he was certainly someone he would want to know.

Doctor Nope · Sep 28, 2022

Eryn C. Watson
Somesby Hall, South England

Eryn stepped off the carriage alone, carrying with him a walking cane that he really didn't seem to need. He had a small presence, not very imposing, and seemed to move passively until coming across Miss Persley, where his expression brightened significantly. Time away from Grimaldi's shenanigans had left his life incredibly boring, and any familiar face would be welcomed by his nostalgia.

"Thank you, Miss Persley. It feels as if we're not back here often enough."

Tea was tea, and Eryn usually didn't care much for it. Still, he accepted the cup and sipped it quietly, his cane set across his lap. He still knew quality when he tasted it. As he listened to Lady Grimaldi explain the group's purpose here, a subtle smile gradually grew on his face.

"To say that my time has been mundane, Lady Grimaldi, would be a tremendous understatement. Combat wounds are so much rarer in a civilian hospital, I may find myself insane from boredom if I have to attend to another bone fracture. Frankly I am itching to get back into action."

Pilgrim59 · Oct 1, 2022

Lady Grimaldi
Somesby Hall, South England

Sicarius

Ms. Persley
Somesby Hall, South England

Persley was quite receptive to those that arrived at the mansion, especially those that she had personally seen to at the behest of her mistress's orders. Some, she was quite fond of, while others - at an arm's length. Yet, she remained austere in her judgment of others, choosing to abide by their effectiveness for any detail given unto them. Certainly, they were already chosen from the start by Grimaldi. Among many of those that served under Grimaldi's directives in the past decade, only a few lingered for a long haul. Either deprived of their crafts, or imprisoned by the circumstances of their own making, Grimaldi's call often became a saving grace for those in desperate needs of funding or purpose. The very reason why the woman expected much to be exploited from those she employed. Such was her trade, as the Head Maid to hers. What Persley could get the most out of these men were their strict code of conduct in Grimaldi's presence.

"Ye boys better fix to get yer affairs in order. I fear we might have a long trip ahead of us." Persley said softly to the men.

Hot tea went about, filled accordingly to their attendant's measures, as the cups themselves were perfectly aligned upon the coffee table. Persley did not speak, preferring to let her skillful hands do the talking, as she brought the task to its completion. A nod here and there, as the absence of her temperance gave way to the remarks that went about the room in response to their employer's greetings.

Grimaldi eyed her summoned peers, recalling the extraordinary details that facilitated their selection process. A sharp glance, followed by a perky expression, articulated the woman's thoughts that homed in on those present. McGregor, a far and close personnel, whose gifts with lethal substances and firearms, as well as his low-profile cover as a rat-catcher made him the ideal assassin in many cases. She gave him a pleasant smile. "Of course, my dear. I would not have called you to task if it wasn't." She said to McGregor.

The next was a speaker of sorts, given their flair for amiable aura and cordial greetings - Signore Auditore, whose roots are more or less shared with the Signora herself. But behind it all, the man's reputation within the black market as an arms-procurer is well solidified.

"I see that your honeyed tongue is still intact, Signore Auditore." She giggled, shielding her perfect lips quite elegantly as she did to accept Lorenzo's compliment. "Though I must confess, I will find myself swiftly out of work if I take up my years." She joked. "I am most delighted at your intrigues. In due time, of course." Situating herself against her desk, she patted the stack of papers atop.

She then turned her attentions towards Fairhurst, a banker whose eyes and ears are well-refined to heed the woman's demands. But behind his seemingly awared position, the man possessed a certain skill that rivaled that of McGregor's albeit prolific in its delivery. "Your fecund works are always appreciated by those with keen eyes, Mr. Fairhurst." Grimaldi remarked. "Of course, we all serve
a purpose."

An elder gentleman, whose gray visions have seen the whites of men's eyes upon the field of battles. Alongside the Thirteenth Regiment of Dragoons, he made a name for himself at Alma and Balaclava - seeing it through to the end at Sevastopol. The Colonel, as she often called him, was a blooded veteran, whose hard-rode experience made him a harbinger of her will - in the past and present. His comment called upon the softer side of Grimaldi's thoughts, as she too attempted to recall the influential cook that managed to retrieve the dragoon commander's attention from the curse of the winter war. "He certainly can. You've just missed him by two day's ride. Leonard's currently holed up in a cozy little cottage just outside of York with his wife. Perhaps you and your boys could kidnap him for me?" She replied with a mischievous smile, noting Leonard's furlough. "His brother, Matthew, has taken his place for the time being. I do hope that you will take a liking to American and French cuisines, Colonel."

The last was a doctor of sorts, whose straight-forward mind bespoke of his interests. "Wonderful. Though I fear we will most likely be handling hostile wounds than familiar ones. But you are more than welcome to procure and examine our assailants as you see fit during tea time, Dr. Watson." A wicked grin stretched across Grimaldi's face slightly.

It was apparent that Grimaldi had chosen the toughest picks of the bunch and that their details required a certain degree of combat. She was looking for a quick and clean crew, whose works would keep them ahead of the game. After all, she was well-aware of the obstacles that lie ahead of them, especially those that did not presented itself just yet. She needed to be prepared for all possibilities, and they were exactly the ones fitted for the job. All sense of pleasantries seem to dissipate, as the slow atmosphere was replaced by the swift dispatch of Grimaldi's tone.

"Gentlemen." Grimaldi said, pulling a precise piece of blank paper from the stack atop her desk. The curtains to the windows would then be plucked to rob the room of light. As she did, Persley lit up a candle and held onto it. As she did, Grimaldi then hung the parchment over the flames. The seemingly magical manifestation of the words upon the empty paper was quickly dispelled by the woman's comment. "We have the Colonel and his men to thank for this exquisite innovation. Never gets old." The secret ingredient was vinegar in place of ink, as employed by McKinley during the war to slip a message across the line to Grimaldi and the others.

The message read:
"The Swan treads the muddy waters,
fractured tides, leapt the Cheshire.
Soundly in solitude, sat the Duke in silence,
awaiting the Undertaker, a hesitant compliance.
Typhoons howled for the Jackal.
Beyond the rugged mountains, lie the stern saddle."

"These monikers belong to those that have supplied our enemies during the war to settle the score with their rivals. Regrettably, one of them has in their possession a certain document that needs to be retrieved. They are not alone, for many wishes to bring an end to the Institution. Your beliefs, ideals and rationales, will be yours to govern. So long as you are in agreement with your shares of toils and premiums, then I ask only of your diligence in the matter." While the Institution is united in name, many within sought changes and decided to settle their scores and rivalry in Crimea - particularly those that operated in the region. Grimaldi and her associates were tasked with putting these factions out of commission during the war as to consolidate the Institution's stability. But deep down, all knew that this was the beginning of the end for the Institution. But even so, there were those that truly believed in the cause, including Grimaldi. "Now. Our first target is the Swan, whose prolific works with explosives and smuggling methods were seen in Crimea. They were last seen a week ago in Alexandria, deep within the southern heart of the Ottoman Empire. My contacts there have confirmed the recent development to be linked to them. We will travel light to avoid troubles from the local authorities and sail to Egypt tomorrow." Having elaborated their first and foremost move, Grimaldi then snapped her finger slightly, prompting Persley to retrieve some identical documents from the desk and handed them to all those present.

"Our reliable friend, Mr. Orsini, have personally seen to the itinerary of our travels. Contacts, information, and the time. For those that have yet to be acquainted with him, but was there during the war, must surely be familiar of his works." The lady smiled, recalling the details that were lent to them in Crimea, provided by Orsini himself. "His designs will keep us on schedule. As for the findings of your work, that's on a need-to-know basis."

"Please mark your reservations for our little party in Alexandria. Of course, we will have to leave the plates behind when all is said and done." A coy smile emerged, as the contents of the documents handed down to the participants unveiled itself to a list of weapons and equipment available to be smuggled into the area of their operation - ranging from smallarms to specific agents used in constructing improvised explosive devices. Her associates were expected to select a primary, secondary and auxiliary gadget for their destination. Whichever they picked was entirely up to them.

"The last thing Mistress wants is for ye to catch the *Peelers' irons at docks." Persley spoke, then turned towards Philip with a stern look. "Dinnae matter how confident you are in your circle, Mr. Fairhurst. The crown has been fixing to bear upon law breakers of late - some exclusive division, they said. Best polish yer heels, ye ken?" Persley's concerned eyes bounced from one individual to another, while her mistress casually took a long sip from her cup of tea.

All seemed perfect, as if they were crafted and given a script to abide by. For those that signed up for the task, it was not a strange sight to suddenly feel as actors upon a stage. After all, they were propped up by Grimaldi's backing and all they needed to do was play their part.

"I am more than happy to dispel any uncertainties you may have regarding our task."

*Peeler/Bobby: Slang for police officers. Named after Sir Robert Peeler, who established the force in 1839.

Sicarius · Oct 16, 2022

Lorenzo de Auditore
Somesby Hall, South England

Lorenzo smiled softly in appreciation as Lady Grimaldi entertained his pleasantries, regardless as to whether or not her sentiments were actually genuine. The fellow Italian was graceful as she was cunning, and oftentimes the two were indistinguishable. While he felt more comfortable in trusting her than he would with the others in their current company, nothing would ever circumvent the ambassador's cynicism. In any case, Grimaldi was one that Lorenzo always had to remain on high alert for, as he could never know if or when their intentions would no longer be in alignment. For now, however, Lorenzo took solace in the fact that the current circumstances were of mutual interest.

Lady Grimaldi continued to address the remaining cohorts as Lorenzo looked on. For a moment, Lorenzo gazed at the one she addressed at Mr. Fairhurst. He briefly studied his posture and demeanor, as well as his arms and hands in particular. While the man appeared to be of high social standing given his attire and the way in which he carried himself, the Italian could not help but notice that his physical build told of a different story. Clearly the man was in a line of work that was more akin to an office job; however, there were two details that stuck out to Lorenzo: One, Mr. Fairhurst's muscle definition did not coincide with his assumed profession. Such mass could not be obtained simply by sitting at a desk, and though the suit that he wore covered some aspects, the man's build was still very noticeable. Two, the callousness of his palms and knuckles were a stark contrast to his character. Having come from a family of carpenters, Lorenzo could easily differentiate the hands of a blue collared worker versus the white collared. Whatever his occupation was, Mr. Fairhurst appeared to possess a great amount of life experience; experience that seemingly was built upon hard work and determination. If there was anyone who stood out in that room the most to Lorenzo, it had to be the Englishman.

It would be unwise to fall into his bad graces, at least while in his presence. Lorenzo noted to himself.

The other two appeared to be far more straightforward in their role than Mr. Fairhurst, namely one being a military veteran and the other a young doctor. Judging by the unpigmented hair and the moderate display of medals affixed upon his uniform, the middle-aged man was of notable rank and experience. His eyes were meek and upright, indicative of character and integrity. In a room full of secrecy and skeleton closets, the veteran seemed to maintain a level of honor and respect that Lorenzo could possibly rely on should things become more complicated down the road. As far as the young red-haired doctor, the Italian was at first taken aback by the youthfulness in his features. Lorenzo at least had a decade on him, and hearing Lady Grimaldi address him as a doctor took the ambassador by surprise. Though his rather twisted and obsessive manner of speech quickly brought Lorenzo back to his senses, as those who possessed prodigy-like abilities tended to fall under the "mentally unstable" category. While he did not believe that the young doctor was insane, Lorenzo could tell that he wasn't exactly a well-adjusted member of society. The Italian shivered slightly at the thought of the man having a scalpel at his throat.

It appears that I am outclassed by everyone in this room.

Lorenzo's eyes brightened slightly at the sound of Orsini's name. There was not a single patriotic Italian who did not know of his contributions, or of the Carbonari. If this venture had his backing, then he felt more at ease. Not only was Orsini clever, but assumingly shared similar sentiments as Lorenzo; fighting for Italy's independence, as well as for the dream of uniting all of Italy. He had hoped that one day he might cross paths with him, as the possibilities stemming from the two working together were seemingly limitless.

"I am not one who harbors much experience with the usage of firearms... despite my greater knowledge in their construction. However, I am quite familiar with the workings of a revolver. As such, I would not mind keeping one on my person should I find myself in a predicament. It would behoove me to also outfit myself with a rapier in the event I encounter a more, personal confrontation. Though I do believe you are aware that my greatest weapon consists of both words and penmanship! Nothing further shall be required for me." Lorenzo informed the Lady as the discussion of equipment ensued.

Huntertabbysandshark3 · Oct 18, 2022

Conor Macgregor
interaction:

"Me thoughts exactly miss grimadal, nice ta see the others as well," Conor said with a somewhat smug smile directly towards Lorenzo, it was pretty obvious the man held a level of contempt for the Irishman perhaps for being some peasantry, it annoyed him somewhat but then again poisons didn't discriminate do it wouldn't be much of a matter. Not like he'd kill the guy, however, they had work to do so frankly it wasn't really a huge matter right now. head lean forward listening eagerly to what job they had lined up for them.

it was the sort of stuff he'd expect, cleaning up.. mistakes so to speak, more accurate loose ends from Crimea, Conor couldn't help but smile, this was something well within his wheelhouse of expertise tho he knew the operation would be alot more complicated Afterall if miss Grimadal needed someone gone.. subtly she'd have simply gotten him to dispense with them so it meant the operation would be alot more complex. The Swan judging by their speciality was gonna be real tricky conner leaning forward a bit. "Right den what the catch with Swan? Let me guess with ant know where e is"

koala · Oct 21, 2022

Joséphine BonheurLocation: Somesby Hall, South England; Bedroom
Interactions: Penelope (NPC)

One… two… three…

Count to three. That was a mantra Joséphine Annamarie Bonheur borderline abused ever since she began chanting it as a young girl. When she was stressed, she would count. When she was bored, she would count. When she was in pain, she would count. Today, she was simply tired, and counting seemed to be the only thing preventing her from going insane as she laid in bed with nothing but her own mind to keep her company.

One…

Long curtains covering the opened windows shifted apart as a fair, summer breeze blew by. Joséphine watched the cream material wave at her in silent greeting, the evening sun painting her light bedroom walls a shimmering gold and red. She could almost smell the shift in seasons in the wind, the softness and freshness of spring swooning to summer’s vigor and warmth.

Though it wasn’t the scent in the air that alerted the woman of one season’s end and another’s renewal. The last few days were what truly informed her.

Two…

Ever since she could remember, illness would strike whenever the seasons were in transition. Sometimes she’d feel so awful she could barely leave her bed to relieve herself or maintain general hygiene. Other times she could manage whatever she was feeling and go out and about like nothing was even remotely off—her acting background really came into fruition then; no one ever caught how poor her condition was, not when her smile was the only thing they cared about.

Thankfully, her symptoms were tolerable this time around. A minor headache and sluggishness were all that were left of her quarterly affliction. The fever had broken in the morning and while she probably could have joined her cousin and company for tea time, she needed all the time she could get to recover her strength. An estate filled with some of the most intelligent, skilled, and calculating minds meant her weaknesses could be used against her if she wasn’t careful. And she would rather die than find herself useless towards Grimaldi or the Institution.

Three…

A soft knock stole Joséphine’s attention away from the flowing curtains. The bedroom door creaked open and a young face peered through the crack. Her chestnut brown hair was split into two, tight braids down her shoulders and large glasses rested on the bridge of her pointed nose.

“Evening, Miss Josie. Shall I help you get ready for dinner?” The girl asked as she stepped into the room, letting the door shut quietly behind her. The way she looked at Joséphine was like a puppy waiting to please its master. It made the older a tad uncomfortable.

“Bonjour, Penny.” Joséphine rose and let a slender, bare leg drape over the edge of the bed. Her wavy hair spilled down her back—so long that a few centimeters bunched together against the soft, cloud-colored sheets. “Have the guests arrived?”

The sound of carriages against the gravel roads and whining horses was difficult to miss from her room, so she knew the answer already. She just liked watching Penelope’s face light up with curiosity and excitement. It reminded herself how she used to be when she was much younger.

Was she also once a puppy waiting to please someone?

“Oh, yes! I don’t know how Lady Grimaldi always meets so many handsome men.” Penelope giggled as she shuffled towards one of the tall oak wardrobes. The brunette began sorting through the many dresses and pulled out a French blue dress that was a shade darker than Joséphine’s crystalline eyes. Its collar was low and the sleeves were shorter than typical English fashion. Scandalous even but more comfortable in Joséphine’s opinion, especially with the coming heat.

Joséphine smiled amusingly, making her own way to the vanity so she could begin fixing her hair. She watched Penelope from the mirror as she ran her fingers through the ends of her locks, nodding approvingly when the dress of choice was held up for further observation. “Aren’t you a bit young to be thinking of men in such a way?”

Penelope turned and almost looked offended. Joséphine may have laughed if her temples weren’t throbbing in pain. “I’m nineteen, Miss. Some of my friends have already married.”

The corners of Joséphine’s lips curved. Cute. Penelope was so cute. Maybe that was why she was actually okay with the young girl pampering her. Usually, she hated when other people treated her like a doll. She was perfectly capable of dressing herself on her own.

“Ah, my apologies.” The light blonde mused, fixing her hair into a half-up, half-down style. She didn’t have the desire to do anything else with her appearance besides the bare minimum. If her cousin’s associates were small-minded enough to judge her based on looks alone, then they’d surely find themselves at a humiliating loss when her skills were put up on display.

None of them had ever met her, and she doubted any of them actually knew she was related to Grimaldi. At best, they may have read her name in the papers or perhaps they’d attended one of her performances. There was also the chance they could’ve been in one of the regiments on the front during the war, when she volunteered to become a nurse for a period of time. Even if she mostly sang the dying to sleep or to boost overall morale, which was admittedly a mistake on her end.

A pungent scent filled her nose. It was ghostly and rotten, as if there were mounds of bodies and wounded soldiers next to her all over again. She scrunched her nose and shook the thought away as she stood but lost her footing. Swiftly, she reached out to grip the back of her vanity chair to steady herself, and she let out a slow breath, squeezing her eyes shut for just a moment to block out the screams and cries.

“Miss Joséphine!” Penelope cried out as she hurried over, hands on either side of Joséphine’s shoulders. “Are you still feeling feverish? I can let Lady Grimaldi know you’re still too unwell to make the din-“

With a raised hand, Joséphine silenced the servant. “No,” she murmured, a breathy laugh escaping her lips as she stood a bit taller. She rolled her shoulders back and let the tension leave her body. There was no fever. There was no pain in her head. She was fine. “I’ll be alright. I can’t earn their trust if I miss not one, but two meetings. It’s time I ought to introduce myself anyway.”

Penelope’s lips pursed slightly but she only offered a small nod. “Let’s get you ready then, Miss.”

Pilgrim59 · Oct 22, 2022

Lady Grimaldi
Somesby Hall, South England

koala

Ms. Persley
Somesby Hall, South England

koala

Grimaldi took great pride in Lorenzo's words, as his confident words bolstered not only her ipseity but also caution. "To each their purpose when called to task. Your oratory will suffice us, but one can never be too careful. As many of you are aware that these details often derail - nothing is set in stone. Ms. Persley will make the necessary requisitions of your preferences. My only concern is the scorching heat, given how susceptible my kin can be to rogue winds and heat."

"The Swan is an elusive prey and will no doubt have preparations to displace as soon as we arrive. Time is of the essence. Our objective is to capture and bleed them for information. Based on Signore Orsini's Designs, I have determined the course of actions that must be taken. But first, we need more information on his schedule and there's no better place than the legation office in Egypt." Grimaldi answered Conor.

Flicking a fraction of her locks of hair, Grimaldi palmed her cheeks slightly as she eyed the gentlemen in the room. "My cousin, a member of the Papillon Pipers, will join us for dinner. Please do try to accomodate her presence." She giggled slightly. "Break her heart, and I will personally cut you up myself. Take some respite, and we shall reconvene at supper. Welcome home, ravens." Grimaldi then left the room.

Persley would take note of the selections that were either marked and verbally announced. She escorted the men to their rooms, of which had been left untouched since their last visit, aside from a few hygienic details. Having done so, she would proceed to get a headstart on the preparations for their travels. Sending for a runner, several tickets were booked for a vessel that was bound for Alexandria, as well as the weapons and equipment that were to be smuggled there.

---

A light knock upon the door was followed by the blonde woman's emergence from behind the wooden portal that swung gradually. "Penelope, please accompany Ms. Persley in the kitchenary. We will be downstairs shortly. Surely, you would not want to miss the sight of my dashing associates before they leave in the morning, do you? Fret not, I shall tend to Madame Bonheur personally." She said to the young maid with a playful tone over their dismissal. Closing the door behind her, Grimaldi sashayed her way towards Josephine before resting her delicate hands upon her cousin's exposed posture. Her skilled fingers woved skillfully to tie up her dress, while her pleasant aroma blanketed the widow with a shroud of dreadful comfort.

"We're bound for Egypt tomorrow. I understand that conviction and will not dissuade you from it. Alas, you must comprehend that our endeavor is neglectful of time and toil. Surely, the war have taught you as much?" Grimaldi said, finally securing the knots, before moving on to do Josephine's hair, but not before brushing her fair hand across the womans' warm temple. "Try as you might, the war has taken a toll on you, mi tesoro." Grimaldi's cold eyes then shifted slightly, as she procured a ribbon with a nonchalant posture. "I shall arrange for Dr. Watson to examine you after dinner. You shall not reason with me, and this is non-negotiable. At least, some laudanum will shelve the achings, but through the observations of a well-versed practitioner. Otherwise, you will end up like Mr. Wilde, and I know you despise the mere scent of firewaters." She then moved on to aid Josephine with her makeup, starting with a hint of powder and then carefully tracing her fine eyelashes and brows - finally settling the matter with a touch of rosy lip balms.

"And that should... do it." Grimaldi concluded, while adjusting her cousin's attire. "You won't find satisfaction with revenge, but I pray that you will be able to put your talents to good use. Idle hands are the Devil's workshop, after all. I wonder, if we can still find salvation for all this? Can you?" Grimaldi eyed Josephine sternly.

---

Before long, Grimaldi escorted Josephine downstairs, where the others were already assembled for supper before their departure at dawn. Entrees were served first and foremost, followed by a few bottles of French Bordeaux cased from 1834. Drawing a seat for Josephine beside her, Grimaldi then settled at the end of the long table, as Persley made her way towards the enchantress. "Will ye have plum juice or water, my lady?" The Head Maid asked, having been informed of the famous songstress's dislike of alcohol.

koala · Oct 23, 2022

Joséphine Bonheur

Location: Somesby Hall, South England, Dining Room

Interactions: Maria, Persley

Pilgrim59 ; Open to whoever is sitting across from her

Mentions: Finnegan

Penelope’s fingers had barely begun working on the strings of Joséphine’s dress when there was a soft knock on the door. Both women turned to see Maria, and a small smile formed on the songstress’s face in pleasant greeting. Red spread across Penelope’s full cheeks when mention of her interests towards male guests arose, and Joséphine bit back a laugh of bemusement that threatened to rise despite her dying headache.

Nothing ever got past her perceptive cousin—something she learned quickly when the pair first connected years ago. Joséphine couldn’t recall much of the day she discovered Maria’s attention to fine details, but she did remember feeling awe. There were times where she wished her cousin wasn’t so good at her job, however. It tended to make Joséphine all too aware of her flaws and failures.

“O-oh, yes.” Penelope stuttered as embarrassment filled her doe brown eyes. She shot Joséphine a look, as if accusing her of exposing the young servant’s weakness to their employer. Joséphine only shrugged and offered an innocent grin because innocent she was. Minute things like a girl's fantasies were usually of no importance to her.

Joséphine watched the servant scurry out, though Penelope had paused to whisper something to Maria. Likely the fact Joséphine was still feeling a tiny bit under the weather, and she could only sigh when her suspicions were confirmed as a cool hand brushed against her forehead.

"Try as you might, the war has taken a toll on you, mi tesoro."

“It’s nothing but quarterly exhaustion. I’ve been like this since I was a girl-” The French woman began to plead before she was cut off by Maria’s sternness. Her cold gaze kept Joséphine in her seat, their eyes meeting in the mirror as Maria mentioned Mr. Wilde.

Finnegan Wilde. Joséphine had heard of the man, but she’d never had the opportunity to meet him. He was a new addition to Grimaldi and company, but she probably knew more about him than anyone else in the group. A Frenchman like herself, Wilde was almost akin to a national hero. War was rumored to be second nature to him given how many skirmishes he’d survived and lived to tell the tale. She wondered if they were ever in the same area together during the war, or if they’d crossed paths before and she didn’t even realize who he was.

“I don’t despise firewaters.” A lie that Joséphine covered with a small, cheeky smile. “I simply avoid it if possible. Men in my world are absolute heathens with a droplet in them.” She fanned her hand dramatically across her face in a joking manner, as if a ghostly smell corrupted her nose.

Joséphine remained silent after they finished up, not because she didn’t want to speak, but rather she didn’t know how to respond to Maria’s last statement. For a moment, she actually forgot she wanted revenge for her late love in the first place. It’d been years since she set out on that journey. While every mission and task brought her closer to her original goal, she now found herself at a loss. Revenge… was that something she still wanted? Did she still care about the people who murdered her fiancé or had she found purpose in something else?

The blonde stole a glance at her cousin, their arms entwined as they walked to the dining room. Her thoughts contorted her delicate face, eyebrows scrunched and mouth in a soft pout as she pondered her cousin’s words. But as they neared the room, the soft chatter of men of various ages melted her expression into one of serenity and content. She let a soft, feline smile grace her lips.

“Good evening, Gentlemen.” Joséphine bowed, head dipping as she offered a slight curtsey. “I apologize for not making my presence known sooner. My name is Joséphine Bonheur. It is my pleasure to be joining you for this expedition. I do trust we will get along well.”

Once seated beside her cousin, Persley soon approached. Joséphine quite liked Persley. She was a dutiful woman who was both loyal and surprisingly influential. Though the songstress hadn’t seen much of Persley’s interactions with others, she could easily see the staff member demanded respect without so much of a whisper. It made Joséphine smile and a sense of pride filled her chest at the thought of a woman standing firm against a man.

“I will have water this evening.” Joséphine responded before quietly offering her gratitude when a cup was set by her plate. “Thank you, Ms. Persley. You are always so considerate of me when I visit.”

As she took a sip from her glass, she studied the male sitting across from her. Head tilting slightly with eyes filled with shameless curiosity, she smiled softly when he caught her stare. "How was your journey here, Monsieur? The roads were not too difficult to travel, I hope."

Sicarius · Oct 23, 2022

Lorenzo de Auditore
Somesby Hall, South England

koala

Lorenzo had strategically chosen his seat at the back corner, knowing Lady Grimaldi would undoubtedly be sitting at the end-center of the table. Being in close proximity and sightline of the Italian woman would make it easier for him to be noticed and accessible. If he wanted to maintain being in her good graces, she must be continuously aware of his presence at all times, as well as his level of responsiveness. While she might consciously think upon his value when he is under her employment, it was important that her subconscious recall of him purely from being embedded in her memory through repeated exposure. Should things go awry and tensions between the company become dense, that very intangible would be paramount.

Before long, Lady Grimaldi had emerged alongside the cousin she had briefly spoken about. Their features were quite similar in a lot of ways, and Lorenzo felt like they resembled more of siblings rather than cousins. As he looked on while they made their way to the table, Lorenzo was slightly perplexed as he found Joséphine to have an air of familiarity behind her. As to why, he was unsure. Though he felt as if he had encountered her before in some fashion.

As everyone became more situated and Persley began serving preliminary drinks and appetizers, Lorenzo could feel a pair of eyes studying him intently. The Italian turned his head forward and noticed that the aforementioned woman was the culprit. Their eyes locked, and she offered him a soft smile before initiating conversation.

"How was your journey here, Monsieur? The roads were not too difficult to travel, I hope."

Lorenzo returned a grin as he gave a subtle nod out of etiquette.

"I found my trip to be quite pleasant, as the Isles' landscape is simply magical. A lovely treat to the appreciative eye." Lorenzo half-lied, knowing full well he was completely distracted by his anxious thoughts along the way.

A few seconds pass, and his mind had finally made the connection between her name and image.

"I was unaware that Lady Grimaldi had a notable relative such as yourself, signora Joséphine. I believe I had been to one of your performances in recent time. Music is an intricate pathway to the soul, a web of beauty woven by life's experiences through the eyes of passionate artists. Your voice is exemplary, and a fine contribution to the world of music." Lorenzo stated sincerely.

"Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Lorenzo de Auditore, ambassador for Italy and one of her current leading manufacturers. I produce many items that belong in the homes of the common man, though I dabble in more... lucrative ventures as required by our mutual organization. A pleasure to meet you." Lorenzo explained.

Worthlessplebian · Oct 24, 2022

Mr. Philips Fairhurst,
Somesby Hall, South England

koala

Pilgrim59

Unlike the seating selection by the senator from Italia, the sharply-dressed banker allowed this action to be flexible. Choosing a seat only after all options had been exhausted by the invitees. As a purveyor who handles money for many men, opulent or penurious, Philips held an acumen when they performed ad libitum; a necessity of the occupation. He knew the senator wanted to pine for Lady Grimaldi's attention, her headspace. The dark-haired man a knuckle over another. His eyes became dispassionate, belonging to that of a chiseled statue whose stone carver blundered through the process at the eleventh hour. Philips asked himself: "Why are you so peacocking for Grimaldi's attention, seeking an aperture, perhaps?"

He remains firm in his position, many here could kill; that is most true. But none of them could quite match his mountain of artistry.

The Lady stepped aside, an adequate time appeared to digest the information that she gave. It appears that this rainbow collection of individuals were to be deployed, for lack of a better word, to the scorching sands of Egypt. A clandestine vestige, certainly, but one that promises pernicious paroxysm into their health. A degree of enthusiasm, corpulent as an elephant, manifested within the banker. He has prowled the streets of England for such a time, that he reckons it is possible to do it in his sleep. This is not deigned from pride or arrogance, but birthed from regimentation. He welcomes this new challenge.

Then as soon as she left, Lady Grimaldi returned. Retrieving a guest along the way. She introduced the madam as her cousin, though Philips believes they are closer in the familial pool than what first seems. In fact, the uncanny appearance of the cousin, Joséphine Bonheur, thinned Philips' nails. The charcoals that floated on the sea of his irises tightened the longer he looked at her. His fingers packed, stretched, and rubbed against their dry selves. He always wanted to be the one to sever the cockles in Grimaldi's heart. The lascivious avarice touched the cousin as well.

The spell had been broken when Ms. Persley timely served preliminary drinks and appetisers. The banker nodded with a smile, "My appreciation, Ms. Persley." Taking a sip from the glass, Fairhurst listened well to the conversation between Lorenzo and Joséphine. A songstress! How delightful, he thought. His fifth kill had been a singer. The details are as crystal as sculpted ice. He saw the vocalist in a dainty, if expensive alehouse. A treat by a client at the time, Philips had been quite bored with the whole affair. Except the night shined when the songbird entered stage, the saloon practically erupted with cheers. A predacious smile carved its way across his countenance. After the performance, Philips immediately departed the premises for his home. He simply must do it, he must! Though in all the excitement, he forgot his iconic cloak. He stalked her to her home, nothing impressive and certainly not befitting a woman with a beautiful voice. As terrible and quiet as the night, he stalked into her room. He cornered her and before the poor girl could scream, he gagged her with the back of his silver-taloned hand. Instead of promptly brutalizing her like his past victims, he coerced the woman into singing one last song for him. This had been a lie, she died all the same but kept her chords unharmed.

Ah, the joy of memories.

"A very good pleasure to meet you, Ms. Joséphine. Though I have no recollection of your performances, such as my colleague." He gesticulates with a hand to the Ambassador. "I am vested that any acquaintance of Lady Grimaldi, whether they be by blood or water, would prove to be efficient and work efficaciously." Philips takes another drink. "As for myself, I am Philips Fairhurst. A financier for Her Majesty's loyal subjects. I make sure that the common man can purchase those items that our Ambassador produces." Neglecting to mention what his nocturnal activities are.

koala · Oct 24, 2022

Joséphine Bonheur

Location: Somesby Hall, South England, Dining Room

Interactions:

Sicarius ,

Worthlessplebian

Mentions: Maria

The man across the dining table, who she'd come to learn was Lorenzo de Auditore, was undoubtedly handsome in a surprisingly pretty way. He didn’t look much older than her, but the faint lines of his face suggested he had an occupation of high stress. His hair was the color of dark chocolate—the kind that wives and their children waited excitedly for outside confectionary stores—but it was his eyes that held her in her seat for a moment too long. They melted when the candlelights flickered in his direction, like liquid honey during a sweet, warm spring.

Joséphine found it difficult to look away, as if his gaze had some kind of unholy hold on her body. She had to remind herself he was a politician, and all of them—her least favorite type of males—had an eerie charm meant to seduce people into their hungry palms. She heard of the man from Maria too, but putting names to faces and personalities was always difficult for her until she met the individuals face-to-face. Had she known the Italian ambassador was to sit beside her cousin, perhaps she would’ve aimed for a different seat.

It was his mention of music and her own occupation that finally pulled her away from her teetering thoughts. Though, it wasn’t all that surprising that someone knew who she was, it did please her to hear the man’s poeticism towards the art she held so dear. Once again, she had to remind herself that he was a politician; they were designed to gratify those they wanted to eventually use or condemn.

“‘Music embodies feeling without forcing it to contend and combine with thought, as it is forced in most arts and especially in the art of words.’ Franz Liszt,” responded Joséphine with her signature, feline smile as she set down her glass cup to give the man her full attention. “Thank you for your kind words. Tis a shame I have never seen you in the theater. You would be a difficult person to forget, and perhaps I would not feel at such a loss in your company.”

The unexpected honesty of her words made her let out a small laugh in hopes he would believe they were said on purpose. Her fever must’ve been affecting her more than she cared to admit. She cleared her throat and smiled to recover.

“You must show me some of your productions when time is fitting,” continued the blonde woman, turning to thank a servant as they set a plate of food in front of her, before returning her attention to Lorenzo. Genuine curiosity filled her blue eyes as she lightly poked at the contents of her soup with a spoon. “I live such a recluse life these days that I am no longer certain of what sorts of items are known to be… common.”

Another gentleman introduced himself soon after Lorenzo, and he was much different. His hair was cropped shorter than the ambassador's, and he seemed to be a bit older as well. An air of coldness radiated from him, and his eyes had a darkness that made Joséphine want to squirm in her chair. Her eyebrow and the corner of her red lips barely twitched, one hand moving to rest on the skirt of her dress. She played with the silken material to soothe her racing heart and nerves as the man’s stare seemed to burn through all her clothes and undergarments.

He honestly didn’t need to introduce himself for her to know him. The songstress recognized him from energy alone, but the mention of his name did add to her hidden anxiety. Maria told her about Philips Fairhurst, a man with blades for fingers and the taste of blood being like wine to him. How easily he could reach over, wrap his large hands around her throat, and erase her from existence.

Joséphine coughed quietly and gently touched the pulsing vein in her throat with a free hand. Her smile was not as sweet as it was with Lorenzo. It was the smile of a woman who’d dealt with ruthless men like him before and lived to tell the tale. “Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Fairhurst. I will be sure to send an invitation when my next performance is in London. Surely, you will grace me with your presence and attend?”

Midrick · Oct 24, 2022

Finnegan Wilde

Somersby Hall, South England

An old man and a horse were all Finn had for company for the past half hour, as the slogged along a dirt road in the english countryside. Not having any directions besides the location of this so called "Lady Grimaldi" had led Finn to meander his way across Southern England after landing in Sussex. Stumbling across an old farmer in the market of a small town to the east of the manor where Finn had stumbled across the old man while asking for directions, on discovering that they were headed in the same direction the old farmer had offered to take Finn to the manor on the way back to his farm. Talkative at first with questions about France and Paris like most who lived in sparsely populated area's, Finn had replied in brief but eventually settled into silence and began feigning sleep.

As the seconds turned to minutes Finn silently observed the their surroundings. Fields of crops, hedgerows, and woods are far as the eye could see, it had a simplistic beauty to it, the contrast of the densely packed urban landscapes he was used to was not lost on him. As he mused upon the astetic's of his surroundings, he noticed the horse drawn cart slow to a stop in front of a long branch in the road leading to an impressive mansion. The early hours of dusk had changed the color of the sky to an orange hue as he gathered his cloak and brimmed hat as he reflexively checked the left side of his hip where the reassuring weight of his Colt revolving belt pistol sat, holstered and ready.

"We're here laddy!" The old farmer said loudly, his accent confusing the Frenchman, only for a second to his credit. "Give Miss Grimaldi my regards boyo, tell 'er that ol Jamie Adams hasn't forgotten her generosity." Finn stepped down from the back of the cart and circled to where the old man sat, his white beard and weathered face reminded him of his father, and suddenly he doubted his decision of taking this job instead of remaining with his parents. Finn reached into the pocket of his overcoat and fished out 20 shillings, dropping them into hand of the old farmer. "Merci, Monsieur." Finn said as the old man stared in disbelief. As he began to walk towards the mansion, he turned over his shoulder to address the old man one last time. "And I would ask that you keep our interaction... How do you Englishmen say it? Between gentlemen." He said as he turned away to continue his trek to the mansions entrance.

finding the doors unguarded and when he tried they were unlocked, good to know that if he ever needed to rob the affluent they weren't the most the sound of mind when it came to locking doors and other entrances. Slipping past the minimal house servants, he followed the noise of conversing voices towards what appeared to be a dining room, waiting for whatever chit chat there was to die down, he removed his hat before he stepped through the door an into the space occupied by Grimaldi's guests. "Pardon the intrusion, but I would seriously recommend locking your doors at this hour. Oh, and whichever of you is Maria Grimaldi, Mr. Adams sends his regards." Finn issued his impromptu introduction in English, although his accent was very noticeable there was a hint of sarcasm sprinkled in as he surveyed the gathered individuals, gauging their reactions and waiting for his future employer to reveal herself.

Sicarius · Oct 26, 2022

Lorenzo de Auditore
Somesby Hall, South England

koala

Midrick

Lorenzo turned to the man now identified as Philips and scoffed lightheartedly.

"All my offerings are well within a reasonable budget; I assure you signor. I was once of the commonwealth and consider myself fortunate to now be in a better position. Though the world does work and revolve around money, so there is an important place in society in which you share part."

Lorenzo held eye contact with Fairhurst for what felt like a considerable amount of time, with Lorenzo attempting to discern the man's inner thoughts. His last sentence confirmed his suspicions, as the Englishman evidently took part in what he imagined to be more, combative handiwork. With a jaw locked tight and eyes clouded, the man gave off an aura reminiscent of Diogo Alves; sending chills down the Italian's spine. Despite presenting himself in a state of composure, the ambassador felt that Philips could snap at any given moment; leaving him to wonder the level of the man's sanity. However, what drove such a person to become the man now sitting next to him piqued Lorenzo's curiosity. He was sure it would be a fascinating tale, albeit a violent and gruesome one.

Lorenzo broke from his thoughts and turned back to Josephine to acknowledge her seemingly playful invitation and obvious attempts at flattery.

She is an impressive conversationalist. Her eyes and lips are quite convincing, a pity that her body language speaks of her wariness for me. Lorenzo mused.

"That would be exquisite, signora Josephine! If you were to ever perform in my homeland when I am not travelling, I would be most honored for you to grace me with your company. I'll be sure to give you an exceptional tour of my facilities. Though I doubt you may not be as enticed by my machinery, I am confident that you would be pleased with the artistry that they craft." Lorenzo suggested.

It is difficult to imagine a woman as elegant and alluring ever wanting to find themselves present in the lowly, filthy environment of a factory. Lorenzo thought to himself, as he took more time to study the songstress' features. Like Lady Grimaldi herself, Josephine had a definitive air of sophistication and refinement. She possessed a prim face that was accentuated by her high cheekbones and small nose; though her pale blue eyes were soft and endearing, reminiscent of a mellow winter morning sky. Her light, fair locks flowed freely and generously down her shoulders like a waterfall; enchanting as it was powerful. It was if she was sculpted by Gianlorenzo Bernini himself, outright competing with her beautifully world-renown voice. There was no doubt as to the reason behind her swift rise to fame, Lorenzo noted.

"Pardon the intrusion, but I would seriously recommend locking your doors at this hour. Oh, and whichever of you is Maria Grimaldi, Mr. Adams sends his regards."

Lorenzo turned to see a young but stern looking man with red hair enter the dining room. The Italian's eyes lit up as he gritted his teeth upon recognizing him. The ambassador was not a fan of the French military, especially one who notably served directly under Napolean himself. Finnegan Wilde was a remarkable soldier who was well known to those that kept their ears to the ground during the past wars. Regardless of any personal detestation he harbored for Bonaparte's soldiers, Lorenzo knew it was in his best interest to maintain a beneficial relationship with a man of such status; especially if they would be working together frequently.

Lorenzo turned toward Lady Grimaldi, awaiting her response as to avoid having to introduce himself.

Pilgrim59 · Oct 26, 2022

Lady Grimaldi
Somesby Hall, South England

Midrick

Persley nodded at Josephine's reply gracefully. "Per the details that are required of me, my lady." She then served the woman with a glass of water, before scurrying off to aid her uniformed associates to serve their main dishes.

Grimaldi would slowly consume her portion gradually, while lending an ear to the intrigues ushered forth by her cousin and that of the Italian orator. A firm smile remained steadfast upon the Mistress's visage, as she took a sip of wine from her glass to truly savor Fairhurst's remarks. It was not the first time the man had to introduce himself in a restraint manner, despite his nonchalant tone. "Far too modest, it seems, Mr. Fairhurst." She giggled slightly, before turning towards Josephine. "Though I'm sure we all have our vices that can be of great value in the eyes of the prudent." She concluded, rubbing the back of Josephine's thumb to placate her unspoken uneasiness. While it was clear to many of Fairhurst's shrouded aura, Grimaldi's tranquil remark served to remind them that they were all on the same page.

While their meal progressed quite fairly with minimal apprehension in her presence, it was not until Persley's return with the rest of their meal that the civil mood was abruptly interrupted by the scarlet-haired man's remarks. His crude profile and remark inducted his presence. The silvery glow of the Head Maid was announced by her dress's parted curtains that unveiled a set of knives - one of which had quickly slid into the cracks of her skillful fingers. Persley's deathly glares shot across the room towards the assailant, keen on letting loose her hidden armaments with purpose. As everyone else looked on for an explanation, Grimaldi simply swirled her glass of Bordeaux a few times, before taking a long sip to finish her glass with a confident grin. It was only then that Persley slowly sheathed her weapon and stood beside her mistress.

The hostess's blue eyes glowed with tamed excitement, as she settled her empty glass aside to unfurl her free hand towards the unnamed guest. "Conscience sleeps soundly without the need for iron doors. Though I appreciate the gesture of relaying Mr. Adams's regards on his behalf on your way here. I had begun to think that I'd lost my capable chausseur. Please help yourself to a seat." She replied, before turning towards everyone else in the room.

"Fret not. While his tardiness knows no bound, Mr. Wilde is an expected guest. Though I believe this is the first time we've met, so allow me to properly introduce myself." The Mistress of Somesby Hall then stood up from her seat to perform a courteous curtsy. "I am Maria figlia di Luca Grimaldi. It was I who arranged for your swift discharge from the service, free of the bureaucracy of your superiors. It would have been a waste to see such virile potentials go to waste by rust and bust." She chuckled softly.

"These are my associates. Though I'm sure you've met some of them during your time in Crimea." She then turned towards the elder Irish Colonel across from her and then Josephine. "Otherwise, you'll get the opportunity to catch their line of work in due time." Grimaldi then took her seat once again with Persley's help, before shifting her fair gaze back at her cousin.

"A familiar scent of your caliber, no?" She spoke to Josephine in French with a quaint smile.

koala · Oct 27, 2022

Joséphine Bonheur

Location: Somesby Hall, South England, Dining Room

Interactions:

Joséphine was a mouse being carefully studied by Lorenzo, the cat. She could hear how carefully crafted his words were as they conversed and his expressions were virtually unreadable. There was only a cool, collective calm in them that she often chose to believe she always portrayed herself. Though, she hated to admit that “calm” was the furthest thing away from what she was currently feeling.

She watched as his gaze wandered towards her eyes, to her nose, and to the waves of light hair that fell loosely down her back. A dainty, ring-covered forefinger lightly ran across the smooth tablecloth—a feign attempt at reminding herself of where she was and who she was with. They were not in a theater, a clubhouse nor a war front. She was in a family-owned estate surrounded by those with similar goals and aspirations. There wasn’t any danger besides her own thoughts, nor was there any reason for her to be so guarded towards someone who likely smoked his weight in ego.

But it truly unnerved her—the way it felt like he could see through her porcelain mask, yet she could barely scratch the surface of his. Had he noticed his presence made her self-conscious of everything she said?

She hid her idling hand under the table.

Joséphine couldn’t stop herself from sucking in her lower lip and biting it—a sign of her mild exasperation—before she forced a serene smile. She abhorred politicians; they would always be more skilled at reading others than she would ever be. There was, however, the smallest change in heart when she learned he was once part of the Commonwealth.

“I find great interest in anything that makes one’s life easier, Monsieur de Auditore. I shall patiently await this future meeting.” She decided not to comment that she’d once worked in a factory—back when she’d considered it lucky if she managed to scavenge a loaf of expired bread for dinner—and she had a faint scar on the palm of her left hand to prove it. That part of her childhood was both a stain and a lesson to remind her never to hold anything she possessed in contempt.

As she conversed with Philips she maintained the soft smile she had with Lorenzo, though the wariness had intensified; he made her uncomfortable and there was something entirely off about the way he looked at both her and her cousin. Had it not been for Maria’s soft touch against Joséphine’s thumb, she may’ve even revealed how uneasy the older male made her feel.

We’re allies. The blonde thought as she took a sip of water. He will not harm me if I do not harm him. Worry not.

Her plush red lips opened to continue the conversation, but the sudden arrival of an unexpected guest caused her to jump slightly in her seat. Eyes wide with a surprise she hoped no one caught, her delicate hand instinctively reached for the small knife to the right of her plate. Did she really know how to wield it as a weapon? No, but she would protect herself if forced into a corner again.

However, Maria didn’t seem startled by the man’s presence and so Joséphine relaxed. Her fingers uncurled from the hilt of the knife, stretching ever so slightly to release built up tension. With her other hand, she gently massaged her palm until her heart sunk back to where it belonged.

Then she studied the new guest, who the leader of this entourage introduced as Finnegan Wilde. Joséphine’s head tilted in awe of his hair, the color of the sky when the world began to wake. She dared to call it beautiful and bold, even as she pushed back a memory of when her own hair had been painted red. There was something else about the ruggedly handsome man, but she couldn’t quite place it. It was as though she’d seen him before, but she found it difficult to believe that she’d forget a Frenchman with such a distinct appearance.

She studied him the way she’d studied Lorenzo earlier, blue eyes dancing with curiosity and intrigue.

A performance? He would’ve been serving during the peak of her career, so that was unlikely.

The front? That was very possible. She’d met so many people and each moment was so fleeting.

“A familiar scent of your caliber, no?” Maria addressed the songstress in French. Her head turned, nodding towards her cousin.

Joséphine rose and offered Finnegan a small curtsy. Her lips curved into a smile, probably the most genuinely and widely she had all night as the opportunity to speak her native tongue arose. “Good evening, Monsieur Wilde. My name is Joséphine Bonheur. I don’t recall ever encountering you, but I’m excited to know you’ll be working with us. Allow me to extend a hand should you have questions and Lady Grimaldi isn’t available.”

Worthlessplebian · Oct 27, 2022

Mr. Philips Fairhurst,
Somesby Hall, South England

koala

Midrick

He looked at them, Joséphine and Lorenzo. A forced smile came across his lips as the Italian industrialist elaborated his position. "So you say, so you say." The banker gave a nonanswer. In truth, he held reservations about the trustworthiness of the man. These entrepreneurs, these men of business are not to be trusted. They plot in the shadows, behind closed doors brokering deals robbing meals from families while their heels are ground down to dust. A consolation to Philips' torture is that you'll always die by the end of it, theirs leaves you in suspense. The tongue presses against the white teeth. He supposes that they can't all be at fault, nor should they be faulted about matters of morality. The good Lord knows Philips is not an arbiter of His pearled gates.

It is only when Philips caught, through a side-eyed glance, Lorenzo in deep thought about him. That the banker's mood soured. That look. The look of a stranger who is trying to pickax his way through the mountain bedrock, trying to catalyse Philips then digest the components. He identified that as the Disinter's Eye. So named after the grave robbers who defile the resting places of dearly departed to deliver them to medical schools for a sprinkling of sterling. Though in his case, the beholder tries to dig up the walking dirt of the living. He thumped his knee with his fingers in rhythmic, piano motion.

He broke from their attention when Maria Grimaldi noted the modesty of his repertoire. "Oh, it would be intrepid and impetuous to discomfit your relative and our guests here." The shroud that Fairhurst spread seemed to recede at Grimaldi's palliating statement, both because of it and of Fairhurst's motion. "Value is indeed beholden to the vice of one's elseways perspective." Corroborating her statement. Perhaps the Lady is correct, Philips restrained himself further.

"Though songstresses capture the beat of my heart, I do find poems to disspell my ennui just as well. One that is catching my eye at the moment is from my countryman, Percy Shelley. The beginning goes:

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert,
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

It pronounces an ardor in me that I cannot quite describe or have devoted myself to," Philips' words were directed at Joséphine chiefly, but anybody could be invited to entertain the conversation. "Tell me, Miss Bonheur, do you have activities besides your singing?" He inquired.

She is certainly beautiful. A marble statue sculpted by the finest Greek artisan, then cleaned in the lake of Elysium; imbuing her with a clarity and vitality unmatched by the azure blooded women that Philips is accustomed. Only matched by the presence of Maria, their stock is undoubtedly blessed. Elegance woven into their arteries, he wonders if it would flow differently. Their thick, rich lifeblood dripped over his wrist. Though he did not allow himself the pleasure of this imagining this time. Only a muse of words.

The spontaneous appearance of a latecomer did not surprise Philips, turning to see the fiery hair of a steeled soldier. He did note the anxious speck of reaction from Joséphine who looked over at her cousin to confirm safety. Familiar with the archetype, Philips had respect for this death dealer. "Salutations, Mister Wilde. I take it that you will be our muscly escort during the trip to Egypt?"

Huntertabbysandshark3 · Oct 27, 2022

Conor Macgregor
interaction:

Midrick

“Ya thought so ya never find a smuggler in one play more then they need ta be der“ Conor commented the answer to his question about the Swann, having been very much the expected one but it did make him smile it would be a bit of a chase those were always more fun, of course, the pay was also usually good but what was that any good if you didn’t love your job cornering the rodents before finally putting some lead or the fear of god into their bones. “Egypt hey? well betta not pack me coats then gonna end up gonna end up boiled like a potato“ he’d chuckle as his frankly horrible joke, he’d not say too much else seeing as food was gonna be served the Irish man was frankly rather hungry. and he didn't really feel like engaging in addtional small talk over food.. he'd sorta grown a habit of eating rather quickly due to his own background and the famine you kinda just ate when you could.. and it was a habit he was trying to get out of but eh sometimes you couldn't teach an old dog new trick there. but eventually his topped himself to look at everyone with a small smile. "so whata ya been do'en since Crimea" he'd mention just curious about what the others would be getting up to anyway

Doctor Nope · Oct 30, 2022

Eryn C. Watson
Somesby Hall, South England

Dinner conversations had never really been Eryn's...strong suit. He'd realised early on in his career of dubious acts that socialising was a learned skill, one that he hadn't had the years to quite get a handle on yet, especially when it came to conversing with older women. Thankfully it seemed Lorenzo mostly had that part covered for everyone. It was easy sometimes for Eryn himself to forget just how young he was next to almost everyone else present. The conversations everyone else were having just felt so...grown up compared to how he liked his idle-chatter.

He'd started tuning them out, something like a constant ringing in his ears but within his own mind blocking them out for him while he focused on carefully disecting his food. Of course he still kept some attention around, on the off-chance that someone would say something important or noteworthy. An obvious example was Lady Grimaldi introducing the fellow redhead's late arrival, and another being the poem recited by Mr. Fairhurst, to which Eryn gave a short, subtle applause so as to not come across as completely distant or rude with his overall quietness.

Talking points, and his own thoughts, moved to Egypt. Conor had raised a good point about packing appropriately for the weather. Unfortunately for Eryn, he was rather fond of his own coat and planned to continue wearing it. On top of that was the issue of his chosen equipment that he'd marked earlier. He'd chosen the same items that he'd always chosen: A discreet cane sword, a reinforced doctor's bag...and chainmail lining for the inside of his coat. He dreaded the feeling it was going to give him when he eventually stepped out into the hot sun. Most likely he'd have to just drape it over his shoulder until it was actually needed.

Conor addressed everyone at once with a question, and Eryn figured he may as well make sure his presence wasn't completely forgotten, regardless of how out of his depth he felt here. He looked over with reserved enthusiasm and slightly upwards curved lips.

"Finishing up in Crimea left me stuck with tending to the ailments of the common man. Occasionally there are some more interesting accidents or cases of assault, but overall I've just had to go through the motions of my days and trying not to let it rot my brain.

....Well, that and learning how to make candy. I brought some if anyone wants to try them later. Hopefully you've all been having more fun than me. After all, it'd be a tragedy to let our talents go to waste."

Scarl3ttSavage · Oct 31, 2022

Cassandra Lenoir
Somesby Hall, South England

Midrick

Such a beautiful evening… Cassandra’s delicate fingers gently combed through the thin strands of her light, luscious locks, absentmindedly rubbing one or two in between as the young lady gazed at the sunless sky, a tender smile gracing her soft lips. Stunningly hazel eyes are enthralled by the rich and delightful grasp of the dusk that so covertly enwrapped her perfect form, tongue swiftly gliding across her lower lip as she drew in a breath of subdued exhilaration.

The sky’s darkness bore an aura of mystery—much like the unforeseen summoning by Lady Grimaldi, to which the grifter was called to attend.

How thrilling.

Thoughts of meeting her anonymous associates plagued the grifter’s mind since the beginning of her long journey to the Grimaldi Estate. What sorts of individuals may they be? There was no doubt that all are intriguing as they were skilled in their respective occupations; only the best is handpicked by the fine Lady Grimaldi herself. But whom, amongst all, was the most cunning? The most charming? The most capable of ruin? Her slender hand retracted from her hair as the tips of her fingers gently rested upon her mouth, muffling a slight chuckle. Tonight’s entertainment certainly had its promise, and she anticipated it.

The sudden halt of her carriage promptly pulled Cassandra away from her thoughts. Ah, so she has arrived. The woman briefly straightened her appearance, hands adjusting the fit of her gloves whilst she reminded herself not to be so inattentive in the next several hours—or even days, depending on the reasoning behind the call. It was a grave mistake to fall under such ignorance among others, that she knew. Carefully gripping the sides of her scarlet ensemble, Cassandra followed suit to the carriage door’s opening, gracefully extending a leg to plant her heel onto the ground, swiftly exiting with elegant femininity. She paused for a moment to admire the residence before unobtrusively entering, light on her feet with the presence of a meager mouse despite her selected footwear. A small glimpse of an admittedly attractive man beyond her raising sudden tension and alarm within the dining room prompted her to remain hidden, her slender back pressed against the wall, curious as to see the current events taking place.

Wilde…the name had its familiarity to it. She would remember such a unique and dazzling hue of locks; perhaps the memory would stir within her in due time. Once assured that the anxiousness of the air was at its rest, Cassandra’s knuckles gently rapped the door frame in humble fashion—though her subtly sly behavior was contrasting.

“Forgive me for my impudence, Lady Grimaldi. There were some…complexities between my client and I which delayed my arrival. Nevertheless, I recognize my tardiness is inexcusable.” The accent protruding from her voice was unmistakable; that is, until she so wishes to disguise it.

Shifting her body toward the guests seated beyond the tasteful array of refreshments, the woman raised her dress and courteously greeted them with a curtsy, allowing those luscious locks of hers to cascade past her shoulder as to flaunt her fair features. A small yet mischievous glint could be seen inside her captivating eyes if examined closely, her lids narrowed slightly, as her lashes fluttered in such charming appeal; a playful grin sprawled across the rosy lips which she took care to gloss beforehand, parting them slightly with exasperation.

At last, she has arrived.

“Gentleman.” A slight nod followed her greeting, the corners of her mouth raising ever so slightly as she eyed the other woman gracing her presence. My, was she certainly a beauty; such swan-like features were rival to Cassandra’s own appeal.

“Mademoiselle.”

Pilgrim59 · Nov 3, 2022

Lady Grimaldi
Upper Deck, SS Seymour